


Heard a carol, mournful, holy

by Naamah_Beherit, Vampiric_Charms



Series: Burns Most of All [31]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms/pseuds/Vampiric_Charms
Summary: A rather pleasant morning quickly devolves into the standard yearly gripes about snow and, for reasons only known to Melkor and Mairon, herding elves ever away from their mountaintop home (and the sheep).  Or at least, Mairon does the herding while Melkor watches from the windows and laughs.Set in the same timeline as As the Mirror Cracks from Side to Side.





	

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the summary, this is set in the same alternate timeline as my previous story _As the Mirror Cracks from Side to Side_. Naamah_Beherit recently read _Morgoth’s Ring_ and shared some wonderful insights from the text, one of which was the idea of Melkor’s redemption and the eventual return of his powers should he ever genuinely repent. This was borne from that idea, and it seemed to fit well in this narrative she and I had created, where he had already repented.
> 
> Set about a year after _Mirror_ , within that timeline.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Oh, for the love of -”

Melkor scoffed loudly and made a rude noise, drawing the heavy curtains closed over the large leaded glass windows in their cozy living room. He spun toward Mairon, who had not even looked up at his outburst and was still nestled in a chaise just beside the crackling fire, covered in several blankets and leaning against so many plush pillows he appeared to be drowning in them all. He held an unnecessarily sharp crochet hook in one hand, drawing up woolen yarn from a clay bowl holding the rolled skien on the floor where another pillow had fallen.

“Mairon!” Melkor cried dramatically, pulling the curtain back to peer outside for only a moment before dropping it again with frustration. “Mairon, do something about this! Another Child has come all the way up the mountain. She’s puttering about the yard, playing in the snow. Make her leave.”

Mairon finally raised his gaze, holding up the crochet hook dangerously with whatever bit of fuzzy craft was still attached and leveling that pointed end in Melkor’s direction. It truly could take an eye out, that tool of torture disguised as a mindless hobby, and Melkor remained where he was at the window. 

“Do it yourself,” Mairon demanded crossly. “It’s freezing out there. I swear you made it snow harder this year. You did, didn’t you?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Melkor immediately began to argue, but Mairon frowned at him, not at all convinced, and the Vala looked away to flick back the curtain again. The elf was wandering aimlessly toward the sheep pen, an expression of awe and wonder on her face as she stared around. “ _Fine_ ,” he snapped, not quite irritably, “fine, I brought us a little more snow. All right? I admit it. I _like_ snow. Now will you do something about this?”

Mairon scowled and threw one of his pillows with frighteningly good aim, considering how long it had been since either of them had needed such skills of war. The feathery weight hit Melkor’s head and bounced off, tumbling silently to the floor. “I already told you to do it yourself. I am _not_ leaving this fire.”

“But…”

Melkor paused, turning his gaze outside again and kicking the pillow away with a bare foot. This was not a terribly common argument for them to have - truly, most of their arguments were not even arguments at all - and he was not sure what words to bring forth to convey his discomfort with the situation, with the elf who had come here to their little haven in search of whatever she thought was here. The cheerful fire crackled into the fallen silence, and suddenly Mairon sighed loudly and started tossing aside his blankets. There was a clatter as the wooden crochet hook fell into the clay bowl with the rest of the yarn.

“You don’t need to explain,” Mairon said softly, reaching his arms up over his head to stretch out his spine once he stood. “I can feel your thoughts quite clearly, even jumbled as they are. Do not take my seat,” he added with a severe look over his shoulder as he made for the scullery to gather his heavy-soled boots and thick winter cloak. “I’ll return shortly.”

Draugluin leapt up and trotted after him, leaving his own warm place by the fire, and by the time Mairon had clothed himself for the wearisome venture into the outdoors glittering with late morning sunshine, several more of the dogs had joined them to form a tight little pack at his heels.

Melkor was right, in his own way, to stay inside. The elves, infrequent and uninvited guests though they were, were sometimes unconsciously drawn by his power. They had put enchantments around their home, most to make their mountain Unseeable by the other Valar, but these wandering groups of elves had become quite the nuisance. Mairon had erected signs all up and down the path - which itself was difficult to find, and more difficult to follow - and those signs typically deterred all but the most determined.

 _No Trespassing_ , at the base of the mountain, and several more of that ilk in varying places. _We do not accept prayer-seekers_ , and _Private Land_ , and _Turn Back Now_ \- even one that read _Feeding the sheep is prohibited_ near the further paddocks after some great adventurer had handed out an apple, and a pear, and a leafy branch off some tree and Ancalagon had had a right fit over proper sheep maintenance and care while the elf in question turned tail and ran before Mairon even became involved. 

Then closer to the top Melkor had made some signs of his own that were rather more threatening. Or at least more hostile.

 _Elves, Men, Hobbits, Dwarves and any other creatures of Middle Earth NOT WELCOME HERE under threat of DEATH_ was painted in red on a very jagged piece of wood and stuck into the ground about a mile from the cottage. Of course, death was not exactly something Melkor or Mairon would dole out if one should come so near, but rather a risk brought by simple side effect due to... 

_We have dragons! Big dragons! And vampires!_

One vampire, truly, the sign was not specific. However -

 _Beware of WOLVES! The wolves will eat you!_ (Mairon had contested this one, as none of his wolves or dogs were all that threatening now and he did not appreciate them being shown as such monstrous creatures, but allowed the sign to be planted anyway when Draugluin started wagging his tail with excitement when he saw it.)

Still, despite their efforts, a spare elf or two would make it all the way past every single sign, read or not, and follow the pull of the Vala’s power and energy, in an attempt to discover what, exactly, was drawing them so intensely. These elves were usually strong with some form of Sight, and usually difficult to dissuade away when they made it all the way up to the cottage where the feeling of this “extraordinary pinnacle of energy”, as it had been described to him in the past by one such wanderer, was found. 

Sending Melkor out, if one was particularly sensitive, was likely asking for unmitigated disaster. Unlikely the elf would recognize him as one of the Valar, perhaps, out here unexpectedly in Middle Earth and so far from Valinor, but they would surely see him as the source of all the power they were attracted to in the first place. The outcome of such a meeting was not particularly something Mairon - or Melkor - wanted to see. Yet, for whatever reason, they were unable decide on which spells, exactly, should be put in place to keep the elves away. 

And so Mairon trekked out into the damnable snow coming halfway up his calves, making the way to the pasture currently containing the sheep and another very legible “Do not feed the sheep” sign rather difficult. He clutched his cloak tight about his shoulders, cold even if the wind had died down significantly since the heavy snowfall the previous night. Knowing the storm was Melkor’s doing only made him more aggravated to be wading through it. They would need to discuss this snow business. 

The elf was, of course, reaching through the fence to one of the befuddled creatures, patting it on its soft nose and crooning sweetly.

“Excuse you, hello.”

She started at Mairon’s crisp voice carrying clearly over the snowy yard as he crunched unhappily toward her, dogs and wolves in tow. “Yes, _you_ ,” he said as she turned toward him, a startled expression making her eyes go wide. “Go away. You have trespassed quite far onto land that is very private.”

“Do you reside here?” the elf asked, her words light and airy as though struck by some far off dream. Or as though she were under a drug-like high, really. Either was a possibility, considering how close she had come to the “swirling vortex of unworldly enchantment”, so named by yet another traveler, that had become their home atop the mountain. She cast her eyes about, searching for further elements magical and beautiful before looking back at Mairon again and deciding he was both of those things. 

“Oh, you must! You must live here! You feel just like this glorious place!” The elf stood straight as she answered her own question and gazed about again, the fog of delight in her eyes obvious. “Have you noticed all the snow here? Isn’t it pretty? Although,” and she paused to take a deep breath, gathering herself and perhaps bringing her wits back as close as they would come, “where am I? I fear I’ve gotten myself turned around somewhere...”

“Yes,” Mairon agreed irritably, “yes, you are _quite_ lost. Come away from the sheep, would you, and leave this place now.”

He held his arm out in a wide gesture, readying to point back toward the path. The elf stared at him in wonder, taking in his smooth hair falling from its braid and his pale, blank face, and stepped forward with light feet over the snow that almost made him envious. She raised a hand, even still as far away as she was, as though wanting to touch him and whatever she thought she envisioned around his body. 

“My name is -”

“I’m afraid I do not much care who you are,” Mairon interrupted succinctly. He watched her slow approach and very easily began to pull the muddling haze of energy out from her mind, reaching in with tendrils of his own clever song to unweave whatever net had taken hold there. He dragged it back without issue, releasing both his own and Melkor’s power away, and her expression gradually lost its vacancy. She blinked several times as she came nearer to him, looking around with clearer eyes.

“What - how did I come to be here?”

Mairon let out an annoyed sigh, his heated breath puffing out into the cold air, and her attention snapped back to him. “I would enjoy an answer to that question as well,” he muttered, “but rather more than that, I would like you to leave my home. Right this way, please.”

She allowed him to take her arm and shuffle her back toward the top of the steep path back down the mountain. The dogs and wolves hustled in behind them, and she gave them all a nervous glance as Draugluin sniffed at her leather boots. “Where is this place? Why do I feel so much power here?”

“No reason,” Mairon replied without further explanation. “Go straight down this path, do you understand? There is a large odd-looking hill about two miles down - _avoid it_. Cora?” He motioned to one of the dogs nearby and she came forward obediently, ears up and eyes wide, awaiting whatever command was about to be given. The elf stared, confused and still not at all sure what was going on, but Mairon ignored her now and spoke to the spotted shepherd who had come to attention before him. “Take her down for me, please, at least half way. Return when you think she can make the rest of the trip without any...mishaps. And I implore you, keep her away from Ancalagon, I fear this snow will have made him far too grumpy.”

The dog gave a very un-dog-like nod of her head and began trotting down the path, pausing to look back for the elf, who had not made any motion to follow. Mairon shooed at her and made little hissing noises through his teeth until the elf finally began to walk away, looking utterly baffled.

One more dismissed.

Mairon watched elf and dog make their way down the snow-covered path for just a moment longer before making to return inside.

By the time he had removed his wet shoes and cloak, given pats and attention to all the dogs, and finally returned to the living room he had departed less than fifteen minutes previously, it was to see the curtains drawn back from the window once more and Melkor spread across the chaise he had left, pillows and blankets strews across the long cushion or pushed to the floor.

He could not say he was at all surprised, but he rolled his eyes and came fully into the room. “So glad to see my one simple request was easy to follow,” he grumbled with dripping sarcasm, kneeling by the fire to shove a log further into the fireplace so it would catch flame faster. “Of all the other chairs, truly?”

But Melkor simply gave him a roguish grin, quite a charming one truly, and Mairon approached the chaise to plop down on it and into Melkor’s outstretched arms. Melkor pulled him back against his chest and obligingly grabbed a blanket to cover them both before Mairon could ask.

“Should we consider putting up more enchantments, do you think?” Mairon asked lazily, deliberating for only a moment picking up his crocheting again and quickly deciding the effort was not worth the gain when he was already so very comfortable. And _warm_. “She was the fifth such encroachment this month and I am growing quite weary of chasing them away.”

Melkor shrugged, the movement jostling Mairon momentarily until the Vala settled again and sunk deeper into the chaise, stretching his legs out and pulling Mairon with him. “I must admit, I enjoy seeing their aimless wandering and bewildered faces as they stumble this far into our territory. Let’s leave things as they are for now.”

“Even if I am the one who must do the elf wrangling?” Mairon muttered under his breath.

“Oh, yes, _that_ is rather amusing as well.”

“Ancalagon almost ate two of them, remember. We must at least try harder to keep them away from the sheep when our dear dragon is about.” But he laughed despite the talk of near death experiences for these poor unfortunate Firstborn, rolling slightly to his side to rest his cheek against Melkor’s broad chest. “I find I cannot summon up much sympathy. We’ve done our best to warn them.” He tilted his face slightly to catch Melkor’s eyes and continued softly, “Though perhaps we _should_ discuss why they have suddenly become so much more interested over the last year?”

“Figured it out, have you,” Melkor murmured, not as annoyed with the question as he may have been.

Mairon reached up to touch fingers to his chiseled cheek, absentmindedly tracing little patterns there, up across his cheekbone and jaw to his ear and back again. “Yes,” he hummed quietly. “Quite a while ago, really, but I thought you might not wish to speak of it yet. Do you now, or shall we go on continuing as nothing has changed until it can no longer be ignored?”

Melkor was silent for a moment, watching Mairon watch him with an affectionate gleam in his bright blue gaze even as Mairon’s remained focused on his face. Finally, he said, “This snow storm - I suppose it was a test for myself.” Mairon looked at him then, their eyes coming together again. “I brought more snow this year than I have in years past...I brought so much snow, Mairon, because I _could_. I felt no limitations, no barriers, and the snow just...came to me, the way it used to. It was so very easy.”

His voice grew softer by the end, and nothing more was forthcoming. Mairon didn’t speak, hearing whatever unsaid words were still lingering in Melkor’s mind and content to wait for them to come without prompting, and in that easy hush Melkor raised a hand to the back of Mairon’s head, threading his fingers pensively through the loose strands at the top of his braid. 

“I think,” he whispered, his voice thrumming in his chest under Mairon’s ear, “my power is returning to its full strength.”

Mairon hummed, a small smile spreading over his face to soften his features. “I suppose your repentance has finally been realized,” he replied. “Even if it took quite a long time for it to sink in, that you weren’t going to lose your mind and go off trying to destroy the world again,” he added with a little laugh. He quieted quickly, turning his face to catch Melkor’s eyes once more. “Do you think the other Valar know of it?”

“ _You_ figured it out.”

Mairon sneered playfully at him, withdrawing his hand from Melkor’s face to hit his chest with no anger behind the gesture. “Yes, well, I spend nearly every moment with you, a choice that is currently making me consider my sanity at the time I sought such a thing. Stop being stupid.”

The question went unanswered.

Eventually Mairon reached for his pointed crochet hook, refeeding the woolen yarn through the bowl to keep it in place, as Melkor fell into an easy sleep behind him with arms still looped loosely about Mairon's waist. Snow began to fall again, blowing past the window and piling like sparkling white hills in the sills outside, and Mairon found he did not mind quite as much as he had before.


End file.
